


What I've been looking for

by micooled



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micooled/pseuds/micooled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan yawns as he pads out into the living room. Birds are chirping outside, sunlight is falling in through the windows and there’s a man on his couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I've been looking for

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, it's me back with a second fic. Another pairing this time though. Work inspired by [that one tumblr post](http://micooled.tumblr.com/post/85552558840/tickatocka-i-really-want-an-i-accidentally) that's been going around. Title is of course "What I've been looking for" from High School Musical. Special thanks to my friend for helping me look it over!

The street lights are bloody bright tonight, Gavin thinks. A bit like stars but also not. And kind of fuzzy? But that’s silly. Lights aren’t fuzzy.

He might be kind of drunk. There were drinks at the bar. A lot of drinks. He’s not sure how many, but he thinks it might have been too many. That’s why he’s going to find Burnie. Burnie will be in his house, because that’s where he lives. Burnie likes Gavin, so he’ll let him sleep there. He nods absently to himself, proud. ‘S just logic, innit?

He wants to lie down but, he can’t. He’s on an adventure, to Burnie’s house. And Burnie’s couch. To sleep. That’s the plan. Righting himself as much as he’s able, he stumbles down the street. Burnie’s house comes into view and he’s about to do a victory high five, but as he looks around beaming he realises no one’s there.

Gavin gives a nearby hedge a high five. Hedges are people too.

The houses on Burnie’s street look a lot alike, Gavin reflects as he makes his way into Burnie’s garden. He avoids the door, because even through the hazy jumble in his brain he recalls a lot of yelling and all around displeased noise last he tried knocking.

Making a noise of triumph as he finds an open window in the back, he starts folding limbs to get through. It’s made difficult by the flowerpots on the windowsill, which, when did Burnie start gardening? Maybe he’s getting old. Gavin tries to muffle laughter at the idea of a grumpy grey-haired Burnie in gardening get-up, splashing water at plants with a hose. In his mirth he loses his balance from where he’s perched halfway in. Arms flailing about, he falls through the window with a squawk of panic. Two flowerpots are torn down with him, but by some miracle they land on top of him, unbroken. Gavin lies absolutely still on the floor beneath the window, covered in soil from the pots, holding his breath.

The house is quiet.

He lets out the air of his lungs. He’s lucky Burnie is such a heavy sleeper.

Brushing off the soil from his shirt, he attempts standing, grabbing the curtain for support. Looking around, he spots the couch. Goal in sight, he starts forward.

And walks directly into a coffee table.

Letting out a string of curses between his teeth, he clutches his shin and practically collapses on the couch. He pulls the now dirty shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor, before snuggling into the couch. He’s just about to drift off when he hears a tapping sound, and then something warm and soft strokes against him. Cracking one eye open he looks down. There’s a cat sitting on his stomach. It meows softly.

“Ah, ‘lo there,” he coos, reaching out to stroke its ear. The cat purrs and lies down on his chest. It’s obviously not going anywhere. Well, could be worse, Gavin figures as he lies back against the cushions.

Right before he slips into sleep, some part of his brain distantly wonders when Burnie got a cat.

 

 

Ryan yawns as he pads out into the living room. Birds are chirping outside, sunlight is falling in through the windows and there’s a man on his couch.

A young, shirtless man. Ryan blinks. His first thought is that his friends have somehow gotten fed up with him being single and called in some kind of male escort to seduce him out of his lone ways.

Stepping forward to get a better look, he regards the man currently snoring on his couch and the cat sleeping peacefully on him as if he’s not an intruder. Ryan feels compelled to glare at the animal. Traitor. The man snuffles in his sleep, diverting Ryan’s gaze to his face. He’s drooling a little on the cushions. It looks like there’s dirt in his hair.

The living room looks just as usual, except that the coffee table is pushed out of place. There are also some tipped over flowerpots, soil spilled out on the floor.

Ryan’s not going to lie; he’s confused.

Ryan ruffles his hair and looks from the pots to the table and then at the man again. Just as he’s made up his mind to shake the stranger and ask him why he seems to think Ryan’s couch is a hospice for the tired in the land, he’s interrupted by the sound of skin shifting against fabric. The man on the couch seems to be waking up, maybe sensing Ryan’s gaze. He grumbles, muscles shifting under tan skin. His eyes scrunch up, become small slivers as he squints at the light, and then suddenly fly open.

“Bugger me–,” the man shouts, flying into an upright position, but his yelling turns into a pained whine, as he clutches at his head. The cat that had been sleeping on his chest bare seconds ago does not appreciate being woken up in such a manner, and retaliates by digging its claws into the skin over his ribcage. It then resentfully slips off the couch, leaving the man curled into a ball of pain.

Ryan doesn’t know this man, but he feels a bit sympathetic. He’s apparently both British and hung-over. Plus, Edgar can be quite vicious.

The man peeks up at Ryan from under his arms.

“Christ, give a lad some warning would you?” he rasps. He’s frowning at Ryan, eyes flicking over his form. “Where’s Burnie?”

“Who’s Burnie? Why are you in my house?”

“… Your house?” The man lowers his arms, wincing a bit at the light. Then realisation seems to dawn on his face. He takes in the room, then looks back at Ryan with something like dread in his eyes. “This isn’t Burnie’s house.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow, starting to feel pretty amused. “No, it seems not.”

“Oh god,” the man says and buries his head in a pillow.

Dirt singles down from his messy hair unto the sofa.

 

 

Ryan should probably throw the man out, but instead he throws him one of his shirts to put on, and goes to make breakfast.

As he’s taking the eggs out of the fridge, he hears movement and turns around to see the man in the doorframe. His face is still flushed. It’s kinda cute.

“Hi, um..?”

“Ryan,” he interjects.

“Wha?”

“My name. It’s Ryan,” he quirks a smile that goes to a smirk when the man turns a shade darker.

“Oh, right! Well, Ryan, don’t suppose you’ve got any aspirin?” he says with a grimace.

“In the cupboard over the sink in the bathroom,” Ryan replies, turning his attention back to the stove. He’s trying not to reflect upon how familiar he’s being with this man. Just being nice, nothing more. Manners and all that. His mother would be proud.

“Thanks, Ryan!” the man says, surprisingly chipper for someone sounding so hung-over.

“What’s your name then?” he asks, figuring he should stop calling the man “the man”.

“Oh! I’m making a right mong out of myself aren’t I? I’m Gavin.”

He actually sticks out a hand for Ryan to shake, and says “Pleasure” when Ryan takes it. What the fuck. Ryan stares at his back as he wanders off, until the sizzling of butter snaps him out of it.

 

 

By the time Ryan comes out of the kitchen with two plates, Gavin has retreated back to the sofa. In his lap is Edgar, who seems to have forgiven him for the earlier incident and is now stroking his head against the man’s hand. He’s also put on Ryan’s shirt. It’s too big on his skinny body, and his collarbones are visible above the neckline. Seeing his shirt hang off the guy sparks something inside his chest, but he ignores it and puts the plates on the table, which makes Gavin look up. He’s got long eyelashes.

There’s a glass of water on the table.

“Found the painkillers then?” Ryan asks, nodding at the glass.

“Yeah,” Gavin says. “Your cupboard is pretty sparse, so.”

“You went through my stuff?”

“Well yeah!” Gavin says, apparently not ashamed at all. “Gotta get to know you, Ryan! We’re close now, me waking up in your house and you making me breakfast like a gentleman and all.”

“You’re making it sound like a one night stand, and the way I can remember we didn’t sleep with each other last night,” Ryan deadpans. Gavin’s ears go a bit red even as he waves it off.

“Details, details, Ryan. You got to move on, look into the future!” Gavin’s really getting fired up now, grinning like an idiot. “For all you know we could be married in a few years. Tell you what, this is exactly the kind of stuff that happens in romantic comedies, isn’t it?”

“Drunk males climbing into innocent people’s houses, smashing their personal belongings and drooling on their furniture? Certainly brings new meaning to the phrase “homewrecker”,” Ryan remarks sarcastically.

“Well okay, maybe not exactly, but Ryan,” Gavin looks him in the eyes, pausing for dramatic effect. “This could be the start of something new.”

“Are you seriously quoting High School Musical at me? Really, Gavin?”

Gavin looks delighted that Ryan picked up on the reference. Ryan wants to put his face in his hands and also slap Gavin over the head.

 

 

After breakfast Gavin calls someone to pick him up, because apparently he doesn’t have a driver’s licence. Maybe it’s for the best. Ryan’s not sure he wants Gavin out on the streets in traffic. Gavin acts very wounded when told about this.

Not long after someone honks the melody of the Mario theme song outside, and Gavin’s at the door.

“Well,” he says, fidgeting with the hem of Ryan’s shirt. He seems to have forgotten he’s wearing it. Ryan doesn’t say anything about it. “This is me then.” He makes a face. “Sorry again about all of the…” he makes some vague hand gestures.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Ryan says. “I’ve had worse. Edgar likes climbing windowsills in the middle of the night too.”

Gavin laughs. Then he seems to notice Ryan’s gaze on the shirt.

“Oh! I still have your shirt, hang on...” and he starts to scramble around to get the shirt over his head.

“Hold on, Gavin–“ Ryan stretches his hands out to reassure him. One lands on his waist, the other ends up on the bare skin just where Gavin’s shoulder meets neck. Gavin goes entirely still. Ryan can feel him swallow, and tightens his grip on his waist in response.

“You can keep it,” he says quietly, looking Gavin in the eyes to make sure he gets what Ryan’s really saying. “Maybe you can pick it up next time you’re in the neighbourhood, drunk or not.”

A smile slowly spreads on Gavin’s face and god, it’s like the sun shines a little brighter for it. “Yeah?”

Ryan feels the corners of his mouth lift of their own accord, and for a beat they just stare at each other. Then, schooling his features into something flat, Ryan replies, “Bet on it.”

“Ryan!” Gavin squeals.

“What? It’s practically cinematic history!”

 

 

Ryan finds himself still smiling hours later at the memory of Gavin’s giggles as he went down the driveway, his smile before he got into the car.

This neighbour of his, Burnie, is a tremendous human being. Ryan might have to buy him flowers.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me some words, or come say hello on [tumblr](http://micooled.tumblr.com)!


End file.
